


Oak Eyed Angel

by Dubbrubz



Category: youtube - Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Forced Sex, M/M, Self Harm, Slight Smut, self hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 22:36:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10500861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dubbrubz/pseuds/Dubbrubz
Summary: In which, Nate is in an abusive relationship and Matt "saves" him from it





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: (In case you didn't read the tags) Cutting, Violence/Abuse, Self hatred, and Slight smut/forced sex lie ahead
> 
> Read with caution lovelies.
> 
> [Requested]

This was love... Right?

Nate stared down at the bathroom sink, watching the water swirl down the drain, wishing he could drain away with it.

The abuse.

The hatred.

The pain.

That's what **_love_** was, wasn't it? Love that forced him to his knees. Love that made every muscle in his body ache. Love that made every bone in his body practically scream. Love that made his stomach twist sickeningly every blow and horrible word he took.

This is what he deserved, wasn't it?

He deserved this; To be used like nothing but a sex doll. To be tossed to the side like the revolting garbage he was. To be insulted, screamed at, cursed and beat down. This is what he _needed_.

His fingers trembled as he reached for the door to the medicine cabinet near his head, wrapping around the smooth cardboard box of single-edged industrial razors. His body was buzzing with negative energy, his skin itching and crawling at the very thought of the shined metal blades sliding against his scared skin.

He opened the box with trembling hands, retreating a particularly sharp blade, the metal glinting sickeningly in the pale light produced from the light bulb over his head. He stared at the blade resting in his palm momentarily before taking it into his right hand, raising his left wrist.

The skin of his pale arms were so scarred that one could spend minuets attempting to find a patch of clear, unmarked skin. Though, Nate managed to find one near his upper arm, the pads of his fingers gently grazing over the area before he pressed the corner of the blade to the exposed flesh, tracing deep horizontal gashes over the area.

He hissed at the searing pain that whipped through him like a bolt of white lightning, leaving his nerves crackling and practically on fire as he opened the flesh and exposed it to the chilled, air conditioned air of the bathroom he now stood in, legs becoming weak and uneasy. He cursed under his breath and let his eyes flutter shut, teeth grit to battle back the whimpers and cries that wanted to escape his dry mouth and cracked lips.

Crimson droplets of agony and regret dripped into the swirling pool of water, cascading down the sink drain. The metallic scent of copper hung heavily in the small collective space, making Nate nauseous as he gripped the edge of the counter. He sucked in a few deep breaths before thrusting his arm under the cold water, almost screaming at the horrible stabbing ache that would come from this action. It was like dumping acid onto the skin and allowing the strong chemical to eat away at the flesh, to burn down to the bone.

It took him a good solid ten or so minuets of water and applied pressure in attempts to slow and finally stop the bleeding from the open gashes on his arm, Nate's head a bit fuzzy from the blood loss, much like someone shoved cotton balls into his head to replace his brain. And yet, the self mutilation would only provide a temporary relief, much like an addictive drug. A drug that you kept coming back for over and over until it was too late and you were at the point of no return. Nate's ebony gaze slowly drifted up to the mirror in front of him and he winced, his reflection peering back at him.

He looked awful; A patch of bandage on his cheek, as well as squares of smaller bandages that littered his face, covering cuts and such. Dark circles and bags under his eyes left him looking like a raccoon, his ebony eyes glazed over and dull, laced with exhaustion. His raven hair was a fluffy mess, stuck up everywhere like a pin cushion. He looked disheveled and sloppy, his lips split from constantly chewing and biting them out of nerves, the insides of his cheeks in much the same state. He sighed, splashing water on his face and rubbing the cool water over his neck, letting his eyes close momentarily.

This moment of peace, however, would be interrupted by the loud slamming of the front door to the town home, the echo thundering up the stairs and making the raven-haired male jump. _Shit..._ It seemed that Jordan was back, and he sounded pissed. "Where the fuck are you, you stupid slut?" His boyfriend barked, making the smaller male quiver behind the door. Normally, when Jordan was mad, Nate's life was hell. Or, more then usual, anyway. The male slowly slipped out of the bathroom, softly padding down the stairs. Jordan was standing in the living room, looking absolutely pissed. Nate could only assume that he'd had a bad day at work. "H-Hey, honey..." He muttered softly. "D-Do you need anything?"

Jordan's icy blue eyes snapped and burned with rage, peering deeply into the soft and gentle ebony orbs in front of him. "Yeah. You, on your knees. Now." Lithe fingers tangled and yanked at Nate's hair, the tone in the room authoritative and commanding. He was forced to his knees, his head tipped back at a painful angle so he was looking up at Jordan.

"J-Jordan--" A harsh slap resounded through the room, followed by Nate's cry of pain. His cheek was on fire, the handprint that slowly began turning pink burning intensely.

"Did I give you permission to speak, whore?!" Nate shook his head, wincing as his hair was further pulled, the roots protesting and screaming against the strain. "That's right. Now, put that fucking mouth to good use."

Nate sniffled and set to work unzipping and unbuttoning Jordan's jeans, his fingers shaking heavily. He was throwing himself into his own personal hell, making himself physically sick from the exertion and everything he was forced to do. His boxers followed, his cock springing free from the cotton confines. Nate wrapped his lips around the tip, tears spilling from his eyes as he worked. Jordan growled, the pace at which Nate was bobbing his head being too slow. He gave another forceful tug at the mess of raven hair tangled between his digits, forcing the smaller male at his feet to sit up higher on his knees in attempts to sooth the stinging ache.

"I know you can take more then that, you stupid whore~" Jordan purred in a sickening tone that made Nate's stomach convulse. The blonde over Nate forced his way deeper down the smaller male's throat, leaving him to choke and gag loudly. He wanted to puke. He couldn't take this.

This **_love_**.

It seemed hours later that the horrible "playtime" --As Jordan so fondly named it-- was finally over, leaving Nate panting and naked on the living room floor, his body exposed to the dismissive glare of his boyfriend. Bruises covered his body, littering his skin as painful mauve reminders that this was the life he'd lived for the past year or so. His throat ached from the screams and moans of agony while he was torn apart from the inside, his head aching and spinning. He was a mess, drooling and panting as he tried to get his thoughts and breathing in order.

"You fucking love this, you dumb slut, don't you?" Nate couldn't respond, his voice absolutely wrecked. Instead, he weakly nodded, knowing that Jordan wanted the gratification out of owning him and controlling him, and everything was better when he was happy. The blond snorted as he yanked his pants up, adjusting himself. "That's right. You're such a fucking slut." The raven-haired male groaned at the sharp kick he received to the side, whining softly as he weakly hugged himself. "I expect this mess cleaned up when I get home again, or you won't be able to stand for a fucking week, got it, whore?"

Jordan crouched in front of Nate, fingers again tangling in sweat slicked strands of ebony. "Though, you'd probably like that, wouldn't you, you little cum dumpster?" Nate's eyes were half-lidded, his body aching and raw. "Yeah, I bet you fucking do." The blonde sneered before dropping Nate's head with a look of disgust, like he couldn't believe he'd touched him. He then stormed out of the house --probably to go get drunk or something along those lines-- leaving Nate alone once more.

He tried to force himself up onto his knees, only to grunt, curse and whine out, the pain flying through him like a bullet, dripping through his veins and pounding through his head. Everything was too loud, the dim lights burning his aching ebony eyes. He couldn't escape. He was trapped here, for the rest of his life it seemed. Jordan had such a possessive grasp on Nate that he could't run, no matter how hard he tried, and boy had he tried.

Jordan had him down like a puppy with a treat over his head, making him to tricks to every sound with the promises of receiving that treat. When Nate finally forced himself up, he staggered to the bathroom, but all the showers in the world could never clean him of everything Jordan had done to him. The boiling hot water would never do anything but turn his skin a deep rose color, stinging and burning sharply.

That night, he laid in bed, nuzzling into a pillow, the cotton cloud doing nothing to muffle his soft sobs. This was nothing new, falling asleep in an icy and empty bed, crying his eyes out. While he and Jordan were, indeed, dating, it seemed that Nate was defiantly just the little side slut in this mess. Jordan would go out, get drunk, crash with some girl he picked up in the bar before returning home. He was always in a hungover haze after he stumbled home from the bar, and for the first few hours of the day, he was gentle with Nate, cuddling him and cooing over him as his drunken fog wore off.

And in that time, Nate could pretend someone could care about him. He could harbor some false reassurance that he was truly loved, that the slurred words fumbling out of Jordan's mouth weren't just drunken nonsensical phrases that held absolutely no meaning. But this was only fleeting. A torturing glimpse in what he could have, but would never receive. He was just a toy, a punching bag for Jordan's entertainment and sick, carnal pleasure. It was disgusting.

It was **_love_**.

It seemed he wouldn't have an escape. Everything he did was controlled; Eating times and diets, phone calls, what he wore... All of it was judged by Jordan's sick system. A system that barely allowed him the luxury of eating junk food, or wearing what he wanted. A system that deprived him of control over his own life. Jordan had made him stop writing music, ripping his one passion and love away from him with a simple set of commands and a few sharp beatings. Now, much like his eyes, he was devoid of life. He hadn't seen his friends in so long, he wondered if they remembered him. He wondered if anyone still cared about him.

But it seemed there would still be a small group of people that cared. His phone went off around three that morning, buzzing on the side table, the light from the screen stabbing into the darkened bedroom like a sharpened dagger. Nate cracked his eyes open, his body aching in protest of being forced to operate at such an ungodly hour. He pawed lazily for the device, retrieving it and checking the caller ID. Mark... What was he doing, calling him at a time like this?

"Nate! Oh my God, you're alive!" The half-Korean roared on the other line, making the raven-haired male flinch, holding the phone away from his ear.

"Mark...?"

"Nate, where the fuck have you been?! We've been worried sick about you! Especially Matt. You're about to give everyone here a heart attack!" Nate swallowed thickly, his words sticking to his tongue and the roof of his mouth. "Nate, seriously, your music channel is gone. What the hell?!" The former musician wanted to tell his friend everything. He wanted to cry his eyes out to him, sob out every little thing that was wrong with his life. And yet, he couldn't. He couldn't find his voice, or the strength to speak. He simply hung up, tossing his phone back on the night stand.

Why couldn't he tell Mark what was wrong with him? That was his chance to escape this hell. And yet, he didn't say anything because he was scared. His fear overtook his ability to speak, leaving him to suffer in silence. Nate huddled deeply under the covers, listening to the buzzing of his phone as it was blown up with phone calls, most likely from Mark. He just wanted it all to end. He just wanted to disappear.

The next day, however, he was getting a different phone call. This one wasn't from Jordan, or even from Mark. It was _Matt_. Nate was in shock, his hands shaking as he picked up the phone. "H-Hello?"

"Nate...?" Nate practically melted at the sound of the brunette’s sweet voice that flowed through the speakers of his phone.

"Matt..." The two rested in momentarily silence before the brunette cleared his throat.

"H-How've you been doing?" Nate sounded awful, his normally melodic and beautiful voice broken and horse. Was he sick? Nate, on the other hand, was attacking his bottom lip with his teeth, the pungent taste of copper striking his tongue as he re-split his lip.

"I-I've..." _I'm dying! Please! Please help me! I can't take it! It hurts... Everything hurts!_ "I-I'm fine..." The former musician lied. Matt was again silent. He caught Nate in his lie.

"Nate... Something's wrong..."

Nate stared intently out the windows in the living room, praying that Jordan didn't come home. He'd have his head if he discovered him talking to someone other then the few people he allowed. "Matt, please... I-I'm fine." Again, another moment of silence before Matt popped up with,

"He's abusing you." The raven-haired male fell silent, eyes wide. How did Matt know about his and Jorden's relationship?

"Wh-What... What're you talking about?"

"Jordan. He's abusing you, Nate. Honey, why're you still with him?" And then, Nate broke, tears pooling in his eyes and spilling down his cheeks.

"I-I... I can't leave. I've tried!" He tried brushing his tears away with his sweatshirt sleeves. "I-I'm sorry! I-I've failed everyone. I'm s-so so s-sorry!"

"Nate, Nate... Please, breathe." Nate sniffled and trembled in his spot, his breaths choppy. He was so scared... Just, so broken. Everything hurt, and he was just in hell. "Nate, listen to me. I need you to give me your address, okay? I need your address so I can call the police. We're going to call the police, and then I want to see you again. I just need you to concentrate." Matt was offering him freedom? He really wanted to help him after leaving him for a year straight? Nate managed to get his breathing in order, closing his eyes as he shook and choked out his address.

"P-Please, Matty. P-Please, help me. I-I hate it here! I-It hurts so much...!"

"Sh... Sh sh sh. It's okay, Nate. I'm right here. I'm right here, it's all going to be okay. I'll be there soon to get you, alright? You'll be free soon. It'll all be okay." Finally... The reassurance he needed. The love he needed. And Matt was offering it to him now.

And, sure enough, Matt kept his promise. About an hour later, a familiar car was pulling up in the driveway, the brunette clambering out. Nate didn't even worry with shoes, sprinting outside and practically leaping into his best friend's arms, hugging him tightly. Matt held the somewhat smaller male close to him, eyes closed as he kept him close. The poor thing was so malnourished, so battered and abused. "I'm sorry..." Matt breathed. "I'm sorry I didn't notice the signs so much sooner, Nate. I'm sorry I left you to suffer." Nate laughed weakly.

"I don't care, Matt. You're here... You're here and you're offering me freedom. That's all I can ask for." The brunette nodded with a soft smile, gently helping Nate into the passenger seat of the car, combing his fingers through his mess of raven hair before climbing in the driver's side. And as they pulled away from the hell Nate had been trapped in for that long, painful year, he realized; Matt was his oak eyed angel.


End file.
